In spring I shall be older, and in summer, older still.
Let me stay here in winter, where I’m young, despite the chill.
The love who betrayed me has a birthday in December.
When I knew Him, He was young. And that’s all I remember.
Youth’s vanity and pride hurts no one. It is the length
Of years and its wisdom that wounds. Love has no strength
In the God who forgives mistakes, though He is deep and wide.
It is not youth’s folly which ruins. Only age. And its pride.
